Replacing Christoph von Dohnányi who was ill, conductor
Semyon Bychkov kept the scheduled concerto and soloist, while
changing the remainder of the program to include one of his specialties,
Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony.

Before this, however, Mitsuko Uchida gave a thoughtfully plotted
Beethoven Fourth Piano Concerto, with an especially fine
second movement, the tenderly engaging Andante con moto,
which showed her at her most sensitive. The first and third movements
were good, if not incandescent. (Perhaps I was spoiled by hearing
Radu Lupu’s extraordinary reading of the same piece just
a little over a month ago.) Ms. Uchida usually provides more poetry
than on this evening, which may be attributed to the last-minute
change in personnel – who knows. Sometimes a performance
isn’t “transcendent,” nor is it “miserable,”
and in this case, “satisfying” will have to do. Bychkov
and the ensemble gave her firm support, and plenty of people offered
her a standing ovation at the conclusion.

It remains an indelibly quaint factoid to me that at one point,
millions of Americans were gathered around their living room radios,
listening to Arturo Toscanini conducting the Shostakovich –
a scenario that one could hardly imagine happening in today’s
world, with a listening public fragmented by musical offerings
from thousands of composers, conductors, and musicians. Moreover,
this particular work, which is filled with scenes of triumph but
also with images of depression and fear, might seem an odd choice
to unite a nationwide audience.

Bychkov has recorded the Leningrad, among others of the
composer, and as my first live exposure to this conductor’s
work, this was very, very impressive. The initial Allegretto
fairly leaped off the stage, with a charging, stalwart stride
– perhaps a wise approach given that the piece can seem
too long in the wrong hands. (I suspect many feel this way even
with the right hands, but that’s another story.) The first-movement
“invasion sequence” was swiftly dispatched, and made
a mockery of Bartók’s parody of its theme. (Yes,
it’s a bit inane, but it’s supposed to be banal.)
The Philharmonic’s percussion section was a model of sizzling
focus during this powerfully terraced sequence, which ultimately
exploded with Bychkov ratcheting up the speed at the climax –
very thrilling indeed.

What was notable about this evening was Bychkov’s care in
moulding the inner movements, which in some interpretations are
neglected in favor of the fiery outer ones. He had the measure
of all the seismic shifts in the second Moderato, with
its crashing waves that then cede to gracious dances, lilting
passages that could almost be ballet. The painfully intense Adagio
had some poignant brass work, and some sorrowful winds, capped
with a soulful viola section near the end. The long fourth movement
had many pleasures, with a triumphant ending that had many in
the hall on their feet. But as usual with this composer, is the
result wholly upbeat, or with a lingering undercurrent? Despite
the work’s gigantic sunburst at its conclusion, a colleague
with me found this symphony “so sad” – and I
can hear what he means.